The Reckoning
by Words of Heresy
Summary: When the angel's fell, heaven lay desolate. Sam and Dean need a trio of Archangels to complete a series of trials in order to reverse the spell. But with the Archangel's dead, they must turn for help to the core of their nightmares; Michael and Lucifer. Slash M/M (M rated in later chapters) Multiple pairings in the future.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: This is my take on what happens post season 8. Let ye be warned, here be slash and M rated content in later chapters!;)

* * *

**Chapter 1**

Dean watched the cascade of falling angels, lighting the black sky like a shower of shooting stars. He briefly thought on how similar this must look to the meteor shower that destroyed all the dinosaurs.

Sam was leaning heavily against the impala and gapping at the lit sky. Dean knew the trials had been hard on him, and he wondered if Sam was questioning the reality of his vision as being nothing more then another hallucination.

"What's happening?" Sam croaked, sliding down to sit on the floor.

"The angels," Dean said, like this was somehow expected, "they're falling."

They watched the monumental phenomenon in silence, until the last burning ball of fire fell out of sight.

"You realize," said Sam. "the whole world would have seen this. There's no hiding it."

Dean nodded and bent down to help his brother up.

"We'll figure it out Sammy. We always do, right?"

Sam didn't reply and Dean placed him into the passenger seat with a sinking filling in his gut.

"I'm gonna go inside and get Crowley."

Sam managed to tilt his head back far enough to look his brother in the eyes. With what appeared to be great effort he drew his brow together into a faltering frown.

"Crowley?"

"Yeah," Dean slammed the door shut and talked through the half open window, "can't exactly leave him here for some poor bastard to find on his way to the fishing dock, right?"

Sam's face eased out in concession and Dean felt it safe to leave for the church. Inside the building looked on the brink of collapse. Most of the ceiling had come down and the wooden floorboards fell through in large sections of the pews. Dean stepped around the brittle pot holes with care and managed to reach the unconscious demon laying on the floor. He looked so deceptively small and harmless, sleeping so peacefully on the ground that Dean almost deceived himself into believing he was anything but dangerous.

Dean lifted the demon around the shoulders and dragged him down the isle to the car. He rested the deadweight against the side of the impala while he opened up the back door and with a bit effort maneuvered the King of Hell into the back seat.

Sam was dozing when Dean slipped into the drivers seat, and the sight of his baby brother at rest some how extinguished the better half of the nervous tension building inside him. The other half was mostly condensed around thoughts of Castiel. Had the angel fallen like the rest of his garrison, if so where? Was he safe? Was he even alive? Dean allowed the thoughts to keep him on edge and tight-wound for the remainder of the trip. It kept him focused and they made it to the Men of Letters headquarters in record time.

* * *

Parking nearby, Dean turned off the ignition and spun around to face his still peacefully sleeping brother. Regretfully he reached out to shake him by the shoulder. Sam moaned and rolled his head from side to side in sleepy confusion.

"Dean," he muttered, "where are we?"

"Home. Now go inside while I unload Mr. Chuckles back there."

"What are you going to do with him?" Sam asked, looking somewhat apprehensive and Dean wondered, not for the first time, what had occurred in that church when he was away. Had the exorcism worked so well that his brother didn't feel right tying the King of Hell in the demon cell? Dean suppressed a snort. Not bloody likely.

"I'm going to tie him up in the Demon dungeon for tonight night and we'll talk about what to do with him in the morning, alright?"

Sam nodded; weakly pushed his door shut and began to drag himself to the front door. Dean watched him worriedly for a moment, on the ready to catch him if he began to waver in his step, but after a while deemed it safe enough to start unloading Crowley.

Carefully, so as not to awaken the annoying menace, Dean carefully extracted him from the back seat and dragged him by the shoulders to the open front door. He pulled him down the corridor and a flight of steps that lead down to the archives and the hidden entrance to the exorcism dungeon. Once there he placed Crowley in the middle of the devil trap on his back, and checked his bound arms and wrist for any give. When he was satisfied that the King of Hell wasn't going anywhere, Dean rose and exited the chamber, shutting the door with a firm click of the lock.

* * *

Sam was already up when Dean came downstairs for coffee. He noted how the other looked pretty beat up, but overall had a fresher face and appeared steadier on his feet.

"How'd you sleep?"

Sam startled from pouring himself a cup of coffee and looked over his shoulder at Dean.

"Quite well actually," Sam smiled and took a seat, placing two mugs of coffee on the table. Dean returned the smile and sat opposite, reaching out for the drink like it was the elixir of life; which in their line of 24/7 work was quite often the case.

"I think we should go see Crowley after breakfast," said Sam.

"I'll see to Crowley."

"Dean,"

"Sam," Dean shot his 'big brother' look across the table. "I don't think you're up for a demon live chat right now, so let me handle this."

Sam pulled a bitch-face.

"He's different Dean. I watched the blood take effect. He has been cured, well," Sam scratched the back of his shaggy head, "mostly." Fixing his brother with a definite look he continued, "I think he's not evil anymore, but he's still a demon and has all the demon powers. We can use him on our side Dean."

Dean winced, when Sam's voice took on that imploring quality that begged to reason with his common sense, he felt stupid. Like Sam had to coax him into seeing the logic behind everything like he was a child still learning the first steps of social interaction.

"Fine," he barked and focused furiously on finishing his cup of coffee. Sam feeling the rise of the beast wisely chose not to go poking around with a stick. They finished their coffee and a simple breakfast of granola bars in somewhat peaceful silence. At the forefront of both their minds was the mantra "We survived, again!" and that was enough to put any tension aside for the moment.

* * *

When they finished they trod downstairs by unspoken agreement and entered the exorcism room, with Dean in the lead. Sam suppressed the urge to roll his eyes at the not so subtle display of moodiness. Inside Crowley was sitting cross-legged on the floor in his fine black suit. Granted it was now dusty and more than a little creased, but the overall air of the man's status remained.

"Hello boys," Crowley drawled in the all to familiar fashion.

Dean scowled and Sam was watching the demon like he was a fine specimen of a newly discovered creature.

"Crowley," Dean growled, "how's that pure blood working out for you? Are you high as shit on happy feelings or back to your old demonic self, huh?"

"Did you nurse with that mouth, you feral little heathen," Crowley teased, his face open in good humor. Dean scowled and spun around to confront his brother.

"See Sam," Dean gestured at the demon, "same Crowley."

"I don't think so," said the younger, walking forward to kneel carefully right in front of the King of Hell. Crowley stared back into Sam's face with no hint of shame.

"Moose," he said cordially.

"How did it feel to kill Linda Tran?" Sam asked. "How did you feel when you told Kevin you had his mother slaughtered by a bunch of demons because she wouldn't give up the location of her only son?"

Crowley scowled and let out a hiss like a teakettle, Sam forced himself to stay expressionless and pushed further.

"She did it out of love Crowley," he said. "I know you want to be loved more than anything. I know you think no one will ever love you because of who you are; of what you did." Crowley spat at him, but Sam wiped off his cheek like it was nothing. "How does it make you feel?"

"Shut up!" screamed the Scot, but his screwed up face and watery eyes gave him away. He was experiencing regret, guilt and sorrow. Human emotions that turmoil and rip at the soul. But in order for them to exist, there must in turn exist a human soul. It was clear to Sam that Crowley's flayed essence had been stitched back into the soul he once lost at the crossroads.

Sam smiled and stood up. Turning he looked over at his stunned brother.

"He's cured Dean, at least his emotional state. His soul is restored but he still has his demonic powers."

Dean scowled.

"Yeah so when that blood wears out he's just going to go back to the Crowley we know and love?" Dean scathed. "I think we should gank him now Sam and save ourselves the trouble."

Sam frowned

"I thought you were going to start taking me seriously Dean, now…"

"Yeah alright." Dean sighed, not wanting to get into it. He came over to crouch beside the demon. Crowley was observing everything with suspicion. When their eyes met, Dean glared him down.

"Alright Crowley, since you're all sweet on human kind now, we're gonna let you go. In exchange you're gonna work with us, starting with this angel thing."

"Why should I?" spat the demon.

"Because," said Sam, "you want to make up for what you did, otherwise the guilt is going to torture you for the rest of your life."

Crowley screwed up his face in frustration but a moment later let his features ease out in thoughtful vacancy. Finally he looked at Sam.

"Yeah alright, I'll help you", he conceded and sagged in on himself somewhat. Dean couldn't help but feel triumphant that the King of Hell just surrendered to him, a human; and he didn't even get his hands dirty.

Sam lifted Crowley of the ground and asked Dean for the key to the leg and handcuffs. Dean fished it out of his jeans and freed the demon's arms and legs.

"Though I should probably warn you boys, I don't know _shite_ about angels. Not being my area of expertise and all that," drawled Crowley.

"Yeah well you know them well enough to have a pretty decent collection of angel swords," said Dean, every word dripping with sarcasm. Crowley stretched his lips into a smug grin.

"Yeah guess I might be of some help to you boys after all."

Sam lead the way from the room and back to the library, where they all took a seat at the table and Crowley summoned for himself an impressive bottle of whiskey and a tumbler.

* * *

"It's 9:00am," Sam reprimanded offhandedly while sliding across an ancient looking book that might have been, from all Dean could tell, the original bible.

"Yeah, well you try being a King of Hell, face an exorcism, grow a soul and agree to assist a couple of Winchesters, with out developing a drinking problem," Crowley challenged.

Dean had to smirk and Sam shot him a dirty look across the table.

"What, he has a point. We don't have the best track record with assistants."

Sam must have agreed because he lowered his gaze to continue studying the yellow pages. Dean watched him at it, while Crowley continued to empty the seemingly never-ending bottle.

"You know Sam," Dean chose to interrupt after an hour, "I doubt anything in this library will tell us how to restore grace to a whole bunch of angels. And even if there is a way, do you think it's a good idea? I mean those assholes haven't exactly made it easy for us over the past year. Hell our lives might have remained relatively normal if not for the whole apocalypse fiasco."

"He's got you their moose," Crowley slurred.

Sam shot up and glared at the tipsy demon.

"Don't call me that," he hissed, "and Dean, do you honestly think Metatron is going to be good for heaven? He expelled all the angels so he could declare himself god. It's Cas all over again but this time we can't reason with him."

Dean looked ready to interrupt but Sam kept going.

"Do you think it's fair to all the people we lost, Bobby, Ellen, Jo and all the others, if we leave them in Metatron's control?"

"What can he do to them Sam, they're already dead?"

"Yes but heaven is only heaven when the angels maintain it as such, Metatron doesn't care about the souls, just as he doesn't care about other angels. All he cares about is himself and what he feels entitled too."

Dean nodded and Crowley slammed down his empty tumbler and vanished the half empty bottle from the table. Shakily he rose from his chair.

"Alright boys, I'm going to go see how everything's going down under," he released a soft chuckle at his own joke and tilted dangerously to the side. Sam looked ready to catch him, when he caught himself. "I'll do my rounds and go through the deal vault,"

"Deal vault?" Dean asked.

"It's rude to interrupt darling" Crowley frowned, "the vault where we keep all the possession we trade for on the crossroads. Sometimes when a human finds something of value we offer them another few years in exchange for the object. Over the centuries we've gathered quite an impressive collection."

"So you think you might have something that can help us?" Sam asked.

"Yeah might have a book I remember trading for back in the 20s," he slurred. "Alright I'm off," and he vanished. Sam and Dean exchanged hopeful looks, it seemed like having Crowley on their side might not be so bad after all.

"Where do you think Castiel is now?" Dean asked at length.

"No idea," replied Sam, then noticing his brothers worried scowl added, "I'm sure wherever he is, he will find us Dean."

"Yeah," Dean picked up their empty mugs and headed for the kitchen.

* * *

**R&R**


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

* * *

When the last fallen vanished from sight, Castiel wept. The loss of a hundred lights broke him in a strange and incomparable way. He felt dreadfully cold, like his very soul was extinguished. But he didn't know why?

The sight of the falling lights fascinated him and confused him. What were they? Meteors? The knowledge itched at the back of his head and he scratched at it until his fingers felt sticky and warm. He withdrew his hand back to study it. The fingers were covered in blood. It was obvious and yet strange. He knew it was natural to bleed and yet another part of him wondered why his body couldn't even withstand this much resistance.

Frustrated he gave an aggravated shout and began to stumble through the knee-high shrubbery. It was dark and he was mostly blind but it was strangely unsettling to be blind in darkness, like his body was assimilating with unsure speed, to this in all aspects natural human weakness. There were sounds but they were so very faint in his ears, like the distant humming of wind. He felt deaf, and he didn't know why. It felt unsettling to be this close to so many living creatures and yet be unable to hear well enough to differentiate between them. A voice in the back of his head was whispering '_you're only human, this is normal'_.

Castiel stumbled out on to the tarp and looked around to confirm that he was on a road. His mind was still at war with itself and therefore didn't allow him to hear the warning rev of a speeding car. The warning honk startled him. Blinding light vaguely reminded him of something he couldn't quite place. Then hard pressure collided with his waist. Castile felt himself take of into the air and heard a sickening crunch when his head collided with a glass surface, and then nothing.

His last thought before the darkness overtook him, was a strangely familiar yearning for the comforting touch of a dear friend, whose face he couldn't quite remember.

* * *

The doctor told him that John Doe _No_ 186 was in a persistent vegetative state since he arrived at Plainsboro General Hospital the previous week. With no I.D and no way to contact the next of keen, the hospital couldn't afford to keep him on life support much longer. The police had come and gone, taken fingerprints and D.N.A samples but the database came up blank.

He wasn't, according to Dr. Mallard, the only John Doe to come to the Hospital within the past couple of days. In fact over a hundred John's and Jane's had been admitted out of the blue, with varies injuries. Mostly vehicular or electricity related causes.

He listened cordially and then asked for the list of patients and their room numbers, to do, as he told the other doctor, a general sweep for his records. It would help, he had said, to insure no unnecessary liability claims could be filled, should one of the patient's relatives show up and decide to sue at a later date.

Dr. Mallard looked more than happy to assist. Once cleared by the front desk, he went down the list and visited every room. It was a quick and easy procedure to do, and didn't take much energy. He hadn't had the need to practice his skills in quite sometime, so an average healing barely took any strain.

His last patient was an average sized man, at best in his early thirties. He was lying on his back covered by a bed sheet. His arms lay on top of the covers and a clear tube stretched from his inner wrist to the I.V bag hanging on a pole near by. Their was a thick spread of white bandages around the patients head that signified sever head trauma, and the rest of his face was bruised beyond recognition.

He approached the bed with a long gait that made his tall frame appear graceful and at ease. Then took a seat on the side of the bed and stroked one pale, spindly hand down a purple cheek. He could feel the black smoke filling the other man's head with doubt, an identity that didn't belong to him. It was a memory suppressant, so powerful that no amount of human therapy could ever breech it.

"What did he do to you?" he said.

The patient's lids fluttered and he moaned. The machine displaying the heart rate, suddenly spiked then fell into regular tempo. The other closed his eyes and frowned in frustration. It felt like he was attempting to clear a driveway with a garden shovel. But after a long moment his expression eased and he smiled and moved to rise.

"Good luck Castiel."

* * *

Castiel woke up with a major headache. His first thought was to squeeze his head between the palms of his hands until the buzzing subsided. When this didn't work he reached for a nearby jug of water and a glass. It was when he was pouring himself a drink that the memories first assaulted him. He saw his whole existence in quick flashes. He saw Babylon, Rome, the construction of the Norte Dame the Paris. Then he saw himself in hell, rescuing Dean, fighting the angel's in the warehouse, burning his brother to save his best friend.

He didn't feel the glass slip free, but the crush that followed bought him back to the present. Just then a nurse and a doctor rushed into the room. They shared a look of disbelief before surrounding him and starting to fiddle with the various machines around the bed.

"How are you feeling?" asked the doctor.

"Fine,"

"You were in a comma. We weren't sure you would wake, Mr…"

But Castiel ignored him in favor of studying the nurse who was changing the setting on his I.V. He followed the tube with his eyes and upon discovering its location tore it out and started to rise from the bed.

"I have to go," he said and made for the door, apparently not realizing the back of his medical gown was missing. The nurse blushed and looked away while the doctor, averted his eyes long enough to extract a pair of scrubs from the cardboard behind the bed.

"I think you should change first," he said and walked quickly to catch up to the other man and hand him the clothe. "Please put these on and I will return shortly to run further tests."

Then he gestured to the nurse and they both left the room. Castiel felt behind himself with one hand and feeling nothing but bare skin, quickly shed the robe and pulled on the green pants and shirt. Once he was sure he was completely covered, he left, still barefoot for the nearest pay phone.

Lucky for him, their happened to be one at the end of the hospital wing. Castiel recalled Dean telling him how to dial through the operator without having to pay up front and he quickly dialled Dean from memory. The phone rang three times and with every ring the angel felt more antsy, looking around nervously for possible eavesdroppers.

"Hello,"

"Dean,"

"Castiel!" the excitement and disbelief in the voice, made a warm sensation accumulate in his stomach.

"Yes it's me."

"Where are you man?"

Castiel looked around until he saw a gurney roll by with the words _'Plainsboro General Hospital',_ printed on the side.

"I'm at Plainsboro General Hospital. Can you pick me up?"

* * *

**R&R**


End file.
